Eckart

Eckart sat nestled between his father's feet, looking up at the elder spiral who was searching through a small leather-bound book.

"Ah, yes," Flamepelt smiled, glancing down at the young wildclaw, " I have the perfect story."

"Is it about Khrynia?!" Eckart asked, bouncing a little in excitement. Flamepelt chuckled.

"Why, of course, it is."


Eckart, now an adult, stood solemnly at the edge of the Abiding Boneyard. He gazed towards the distant Rotrock Rim. He felt foolish. All his life he'd heard stories of the Legion back in their prime, and he'd sworn to rebuild it. He hadn't counted on the few survivors refusing to rejoin. The idea of reclaiming the Rim was an impossible mission in their minds. Eckart supposed he couldn't blame them. Flamepelt had only recently recounted the events of that fateful day to him

Eckart sighed and turned away from the Rim. His mother was expecting him.


"Don't be too hard on yourself," Nuala soothed, "be grateful they lived to tell their tale."

"But our home is still overrun," Eckart grumbled, sifting through his chest of journals. Plans gone to waste. The wildclaw shivered as a wave of shade-magic washed down his spine.

"Don't stress," his father chastised, " you'll make your condition worse."

"My condition is always getting worse," the younger wildclaw huffed " we don't know anything about shade curses."

"Maybe we should go back to the court..." Nuala fretted.

"The court died out years ago," Eckart reminded her," I went looking for them."

Eckart suddenly paused. In his search for the court, he had found other shade-touched. They all had lived with the curse their whole lives. If he could get them to come together, maybe they could study the curse themselves.

"I have an idea."


It took a couple of years, and some negotiating, but Eckart had gotten the lab built. He'd tracked down a few of the other shade-touched, and they were slowly learning more about the shade curses. Namely that it wasn't contagious. Even if one egg in a clutch had the curse, the others were safe. many had hatched without their parents knowing they were cursed and their siblings were completely normal. Hopefully, in due time, they'd learn to either mitigate the curse or cure it entirely.

Can anyone say there is an aftermath? Surely not Eckart. His entire being felt torn, like a part of him was being stripped away. Was this what Rocko's affliction was meant for? To pull the shade from the shade-touched? Early tests prior to his hatching had proven to be a fatal endeavor, but that wouldn't matter to Rocko anyway. The pearlcatcher was hoping for their demise.

Every breath Eckart took felt like swallowing bone. The blood he sometimes spat from his lips made it seem as if he really were breathing in ivory shards.

"I have failed in every conceivable way," Eckart wheezed, too weak to leave the fur-lined outcropping that served as his temporary bed. The sounds of his fellows suffering in their shared agony filled the makeshift quarantine the eldritch had thrown together. The legion had survived thanks in no small part to Khrynia's great sacrifice and Eckart's folly was its immediate downfall.

"Radagban was right," the wildclaw mumbled, weary eyes watching over his clanmates, "I am too weak to lead."

"Preposterous."

Eckart nearly fainted with the sudden and aggressive movement as he swung his head around to look for the mysterious voice. Atarangi and his other shade-touched family were on the other side of the room, and none of them had the strength to spit such vitriol so loudly. Who? Eckart's disease-addled mind struggled to find an answer for the voice. It did not sound like anyone he knew, and it was not his own. His mother's voice, while harsh at times, was softer, warmer, and she refrained from chastizing him in his sickened state.

"Now, I am going mad," Eckart grumbled, preparing for a miserable sleep, only to come face to face with two large red eyes floating in front of him. Even weakened, Eckart sat upright and flared his wings in surprise, only wincing once the movement was done. His clan seemed to either not notice, or not care in their misery. A ghostly figure materialized around the eyes, the shape of a ghostly spiral clad in pearly-white armor. A translucent belly filled with a dark red liquid ran to the tip of her elongated body. He recognized her face. He had seen it many times in paintings and drawings. Seen the way Flamepelt's eyes turned down whenever looking upon it. It was Khrynia.

"The only madness that afflicts you is your own pathetic wallowing over a situation far beyond your control," the spiral spoke sharply, her voice echoing as if she were in a cavern beneath the ground.

"I-" Eckart fumbled for words, peering around the ghostly spiral at the rest of his clan who paid no mind, "H- how- I mean- I-."

"On the day my body fell, my spirit became bound to Mother Pestilence," Khrynia explained, seemingly understanding the wildclaw's confusion, "She entrusted me with the future of my clan even in death. Fitting, as I had no intentions of dying on the day I had, and according to her, I was not meant to."

"Flamepelt," Eckart finally managed to spit out, "He would-"

"I am afraid," Khrynia started hesitantly, "That you alone can see and hear me."

Eckart's body suddenly seized; an uncontrollable fit of pained coughs wracked through him. Blood splattered the pelts beneath his talons as he struggled to force his body to breathe.

"Know this, Eckart of the Abiding Boneyard," the spirit of Khrynia spoke as Eckart slowed his breathing, "You were chosen by Mother Pestilence herself to continue my legacy. A legacy dedicated to her greatness, and the ensured survival of the Eleven."

Her words confused him. The ensured survival of the eleven? That was never part of Flamepelt's stories.

"Are you saying you knew of the Shadewalker's threat?" he asked tentatively. Khrynia scoffed. winding around the wildclaw so she could be at eye level with him.

"No, I did not have the gift of Future-Sight, and our clan held no Oracles," she admitted, "But we were aware of the Shade's growing presence. Many of our children were starting to show signs. Signs that had not existed before."

"With that being said, I have been made aware of the plight of this clan and Sornieth as a whole," the spiral continued, "Rocko is not the only player in the game, and many of his fellows are tricking and devouring clans like ours all across the continent."

"If that's true then I shouldn't be rotting away in here," Eckart growled, "If I am important to your legacy I should be out there! Not being consumed by an alien infection that tears at my very being!"

Khrynia leveled Eckart with an unreadable stare.

"I understand your rage," she finally spoke, "I too was angry when I found out the serthis had begun to cause problems in the Rim. And just as arrogantly I assumed I had the power and numbers to battle them."

Khrynia turned away, waving a ghostly hand over the pock-marked wall. The material began to shift and writhe as foul plague magic ripped open a window into the past. Khrynia stood in her former glory alongside her clanmates as they battled the Serthis, their number seeming to rival that of their enemy.

"But I was a fool." The scene twisted, a foul and gruesome image taking shape in its place. Khrynia weeping over her sister's lifeless form, her clanmates around her all dead save for a select few.

"I lost everything. My home, my family, my sister. All because I believed myself untouchable because I had Mother Pestilent's blessing." The image faded away and Eckart glanced at Khrynia, " Unfortunately we cannot be the only one shouldering the burdens of our home and clan. If I had patience and had bothered to assess the situation, perhaps things would have turned out differently. You will have your moment, Eckart. Right now, let your clan give back what you have given unto them."

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Credits

Emblem by Drytil
Dividers by Osiem
Status bars by VolatileMatter
Stats by Disillusionist